Tessa. My best friend. My ride–or–die. The girl who’s been knocked down more times than I can count, but always got back up
even when it was just me there to help her dust off the pieces.
–
I should’ve done this sooner. Not just for me. But for her. For all the girls who’ve been silenced. For everyone who learned to live with pain like it was something they deserved.
“People are gonna call you worse names than a puck bunny, Emmy,” Tessa whispers. Her voice is all cracked and tired. “No one’s gonna believe you.”
“I don’t care if they do,” I say, voice steady. “It’s not about them. It’s about making his life hell. It’s about putting this stain on his record so he can’t hurt someone else and just walk away clean.”
It’s about you, I want to say,, who’s always given so much. Fought so hard. To get no justice, no reward. Nothing but scars that won’t heal and a fight that won’t end.
There’s a pause. Then-
“God, I hate you,” she mumbles. “I don’t do tears. What if I’m pregnant? Shit.”
I laugh – actually laugh and it’s wild how good it feels. “Even if it’s that Lyle bastard’s baby, I’ll still be the coolest, most extra auntie in the world.”
“Damn right you will,” she says, with this deep breath that
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sounds like she’s finally letting go of something she’s been holding onto too tight.
Then her voice softens. Breaks just a little. “You’re the bravest person I know, Em. And I love you. So damn much. I’ve got you, okay? Every second. Every heartbeat. We’re gonna burn that asshole’s world to the ground. Together. Once you’re back, we’ll walk into that police station hand in hand. That’ll teach the bastard.”
And just like that, the tightness in my chest loosens.
When Tess ends the call, I dial a number I know by heart, one that haunted me each night for years but I was never able to call.
I’ve only started worrying about him changing his number when he picks. “Hello?” He grumbles.
It’s barely 4 AM, but I’d be more surprised if he was asleep. My heart clenches at the sound of his voice.
At the fact that Luther will never get to hear it again.
“Hi, Adrian,” I gulp. “It’s Emily. Emily Vanderbilt.”
EMILIA
The silence makes my skin crawl.
I anxiously drum my fingers against the railing, while Adrian stays quiet on the other end. It takes a few long, fumbling seconds before I finally hear him breathe out, “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
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“Um–shit. Sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting this. At all.” He sounds like he’s scrambling, words tripping over each other. “How are you? Wait – no, is that even the right thing to ask? Should I still call you Emily? Or it’s Emilia now, right? God, I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”
“Adrian,” I laugh softly, almost despite myself. The
awkwardness in his voice is achingly familiar. Some things really don’t change. “Emily, Emilia – it doesn’t matter. And you can relax. My parents still don’t know you’re the one with the rest of his sculptures.”
I hear the nervousness leave him all at once, like a balloon deflating. “Oh. Well… that’s a relief.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I ask, guilt creeping in. “I can call back later if-”
“No! No, you’re fine. It’s fine.” Honestly, I would have been more surprised if he was asleep. A beat. Then quieter: “I just didn’t expect to hear from you. But… it’s really, really good to hear your voice. I’ve been worried. You know, with everything that’s been online.”
Now that catches me off guard.
–
The Adrian I remember – the one Luther was obsessed with barely knew how to use social media. All he cared about was video games and breaking into encrypted systems for fun, A genius with messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and no filter.
My smile is as good as gone. “Yeah, that’s actually what I was calling about. I need a favour.”
The rain is slowly coming to a stop. “You know all you have to
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do is ask.”
But does that still apply to me, even now?
It was different back then. Adrian used to drag himself out of his dark room just to hang out with me, his boyfriend’s little sister. He was always tired, always holding a can of soda, but he showed up.
It was different when I still had Luther. When I hadn’t lost my brother and stolen away the love of his life.
The guilt stings, but I don’t let it show. “Do you still want the rest of his sculptures?”
I hear him breathe in, sharp and surprised. “You’re serious?”
